


Memories Become Stories

by faithfulviewer (malfoytheunanxious)



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Friendship/Love, Love Triangles, Platonic Romance, Romance, Romantic Friendship, whouffaldi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-30
Updated: 2016-09-09
Packaged: 2018-08-09 20:55:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,441
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7816897
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/malfoytheunanxious/pseuds/faithfulviewer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Collection of Whouffaldi one-shots inspired by prompts from the <em>712 Things to Write About</em> writing journal. Stories revolve around the Twelfth Doctor, Clara Oswald, their adventures, and their relationship. </p><p>STORY #1: Something that is true at first light, false by noon.<br/>STORY #2: Clara gets a postcard from a distant country stamped with a local postmark. It's from the Doctor.<br/>STORY #3: The Doctor and Clara try to have a proper holiday, but they end up in Bad Wolf Bay.<br/>STORY #4: The Doctor gives a homeless person some change and she knows his name. (Post Hell Bent.)<br/>STORY #5: The Doctor and Clara make up after a huge fight.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Brilliant Liar

**Memories Become Stories**

 

 **A/N** : Collection of Whouffaldi one-shots that revolve around the Twelfth Doctor, Clara Oswald, their adventures and their relationship. All prompts used for this collection of short stories are taken from the book _712 More Things to Write About_ , by the San Francisco Writers' Grotto, San Francisco: Chronicles Books LLC, 2014.

 

* * *

 

**Prompt: Write about something that is true at first light, false by noon.**

 

_**A Brilliant Liar** _

 

6:00 – the alarm clock beside Clara's bed goes off.

"Okay, I got it, shut up," the sleepy young woman grunts, sticking her arm out from under the blankets to turn off the alarm. She stares at the ceiling for a few seconds, gathering the strength to get up, and gets off the bed.

She reaches the window, opens the shutters and peers out, breathing in the chill morning breeze. The sky is still dark, but the sun is beginning to rise, and the first rays of lights start to colour the outline of the estate. Clara mentally curses Mr. Armitage for having put her down for 8 a.m. classes on Monday mornings, and forces herself to close the window and get ready for work. But the images of the dream she just had are still flashing before her eyes, distracting her.

She dreamt of traveling with the Doctor, as she frequently did. They were visiting an alien planet and some creature appeared out of nowhere and she suddenly found herself running through some corridor that closely resembled to her flat. The monster was about to catch her, but then the Doctor jumped in front of her like a rabbit out of a hat, protecting her with his magician-like coat, shining the green sonic screwdriver against the alien, which shrank and disappeared.

Clara sits at her dressing table, staring at her reflection on the three mirrors, and sighs deeply. She has to concentrate and remember her special trick. She has to focus on not falling in love. She's good at that trick, she does it all the time, sometimes twice a day.

She doesn't love the Doctor. She repeats that sentence in her mind, and she truly believes it. She is not in love with him, she's convinced about that. That is the truth.

Actually, she doesn't even like him much. He's overbearing, annoying, stubborn, childish, and arrogant beyond belief. The list of his flaws goes on and on, she even tried to write it down for reference once. The Doctor knows how to irritate her like nobody else.

She starts applying her make-up, trying not to miss any bit, thinking about the stupid remark the Doctor said after one of her dates. God, sometimes she hates him.

Luckily, her first class is about Jane Austen. At least she always knows how to cheer Clara up.

* * *

8:25 – Clara takes her helmet off and leaves her motorbike in front of Coal Hill School. She walks quickly towards the main entrance, fixing her brown hair, trying not to be late.

"How's your Doctor, Miss?" Courtney laughs, hanging out with her friends beside the door when Clara approaches it.

"Go to class now, Courtney," Clara scolds her, ignoring the giggles. Then, entering the building, she adds under her breath, "I wish I knew."

She hasn't seen the Doctor in three weeks. It isn't particularly unusual, sometimes the Doctor just loses track of time and disappears for a while, reappearing weeks later as if not a day has passed.

She isn't concerned about the Doctor. And she's most definitely not in love with him. She just misses him, a bit. Tiny bit. She just wishes they could spend more time together, she just wishes he was more reliable and they could schedule their encounters as they used to do before he regenerated. But last time she tried to bring the subject up, he complained about her being a control freak for hours on end so she just gave up.

But she doesn't love the Doctor. That is a certain truth. She just can't wait for him to return to her.

* * *

10:15 – Clara's students rush out of her class, resurfacing from the boredom of the lecture. They don't seem to have appreciated the analysis of Pride and Prejudice much, except Angelina, who is very passionately firing away questions to her teacher about the text.

"But what are the motives behind Darcy's actions in this passage?" the girl points at an excerpt of the book, "why did Elizabeth reacted in this way? What does Austen implies?"

Normally Clara would have been very happy to have made such an impact on one of her students, and would be gladly discuss all questions with Angelina. But now there is something else that is catching her attention. She has heard a familiar sound among the noise caused by the kids.

"Sorry, Angelina, we discuss this tomorrow, okay?"

Clara leaves the classroom and walks along the corridor, suspicious. The door of the supply cupboard at the end of the corridor is slightly open, weird beams of light coming from inside. She opens it, cautiously, and finds a familiar blue telephone box in front of her.

"Come on," the Doctor simply tells her, popping his head out of the TARDIS and outstretching his hand.

"Where the hell have you been?" Clara frowns.

"I've found a planet where people have eyes bigger than yours, come and see!" he replies, all excited.

"No, Doctor, I've got assembly in five minutes!"

"Time machine, remember? We'll be back in four!"

He brings Clara to a planet, whose name she can't pronounce or remember, where it's always night. The planet orbits so distant from its small parent sun that the light coming from it is never really bright. Even during day time, the light is at best very dim and the sky still very dark. You can see the stars all day long.

The Doctor tells Clara that, living in such conditions, the humanoid inhabitants of the planet evolved really big eyes to be able to catch as much light as possible and see perfectly even in the dark. They don't even have the concept of electric light. Their big eyes are half creepy, half cute, Clara thinks, and she has to resist the impulse to point at them, but the Doctor comments that her eyes are inflating so much they'd probably mistake her for a native so she gets angry and punch his shoulder.

There's something evocative about living your whole life under the stars, Clara ponders while they walk. It's quite romantic, and she can't help but grasp the Doctor's arm and squeeze it despite his complains.

But she doesn't love the Doctor, and that is the truth. Okay, she has to admit that maybe she likes him, but the Doctor is just her friend. Her best friend. She's not in love with him, never, not ever.

And until they can walk together under the stars it doesn't even matter.

* * *

10:19 – The Doctor drops Clara back at Coal Hill.

Clara speeds towards the assembly room, trying to make her way through the crowd of students that are filling the corridors, hoping to make it in time for the meeting. While she's stuck in the crowd, someone plucks at her sleeve to get her attention.

"Miss Oswald?" Meabh calls her name in her soft, high-pitched voice, "I have to hand in my essay." The girl hands out her homework book to her teacher.

"Maebh, you've already given me your essay an hour ago."

"I felt inspired so I've written another one on the same topic," the girl smiles.

"Okay, great," Clara sighs, "like I didn't have enough homework to mark already," she mumbles, "thank you Maebh, glad to see your creativity is working at full capacity as ever."

"You're welcome," the little girl grins naively. "Say hello to the Doctor for me when you see him!" she waves, running to the other end of the corridor.

"Yeah, I will..."

The Doctor. God knows what he'll be up to before she sees him next. She hopes he'll be safe and take care of himself. But he's the Doctor, so he probably won't. It's not that she's worried about him, but sometimes she wonders, what if something happened to him? What if he was trapped on a distant planet or died before he could regenerate? She wouldn't even ever know. He'd just not ever come back to her, and she'd just keep on waiting for him her entire life, not knowing what happened to him. That's the thought that scares Clara the most.

But she doesn't love the Doctor. She just cares about him. A lot.

* * *

11:30 – Clara sits in the staff room, alone. Her head is bowed over the homework book of one of her students, her brown locks falling on both sides of it. Clara raises her head to look at the pile of marking she still has to do and emits a long, frustrated groan. She rests her shoulders against the back of her chair and hopes they're not all that bad.

Suddenly, an equal sound of groaning comes from the back of the room. Clara turns around, surprised, to check if there's somebody else in the room, but no one else is there. The groaning sound repeats, becoming louder each time, until Clara recognizes it.

The TARDIS materializes in the corner of the room as the wheezing sound stops.

"What are you doing?" Clara yells at the Doctor, as he gets out of his ship, "what if there were someone else here and they saw a big wooden box appearing from no where?!"

"I've got to show you something," he simply replies, trying to sound mysterious enough to intrigue Clara, looking even more excited than before.

"We've just been to... some weird alien planet like an hour ago!" Clara complains, standing up.

"What?" he mumbles, confused, bringing his eyebrows together, "is it still the same day for you?"

"Yes?"

"I'm sorry, but you really have to see this," he shrugs, grabbing Clara's hand and trying to drag her in the TARDIS.

"But I have to finish the marking!" she protests, but she's quite happy to have a distraction.

"You'll do it later," he says back, "we'll only be away for five minutes!"

Clara groans again, pretending to be huffy. "I'll have to work over lunch break, thanks to you," she snorts, following the Doctor inside the TARDIS.

She just can't say no to him. No matter how bad his timing is, she never denies a new adventure. Not even in the middle of dinner. She even ate two meals in a row, once.

But she repeats in her mind that she's not in love with him. She doesn't love the Doctor. Not in that way.

But in what way then?

* * *

12:00 – Clara is back in the staff room. She sits by herself, correcting the written exercises from her students while all her colleagues are eating in the school canteen. She'd feel lonely if she had the time.

Then, somebody knocks on the door. The door opens, and a lined face crowned with gray curls that Clara knows a little too well peers in.

"Oh God, Doctor, not again!" Clara sighs, "I'm busy!"

"I brought you chips from the takeaway," he replies, stepping inside the room and offering her a steaming white paper bag full of hot chips, "since you said you had to work over lunch break because of me."

She takes the chips, wide-eyed. "Thank you," she mumbles, astonished, "you shouldn't have."

"I parked outside this time, followed your instructions," he winks, suggesting that he's not in a hurry.

Sometimes she forgets that, behind all the grumpiness and professional detachment, the Doctor can be caring and kind. He takes a sit next to Clara, steals a chip from her bag with his fingers, and starts telling her about some adventures that she can't tell whether they really happened or are just stories. She smiles, eats a chip too, and returns to her marking, listening to the Doctor's story.

The Doctor keeps company to Clara while she works. She has an afternoon of grading and teaching ahead of her, but as long as they sit in the staff room alone, sharing the bag of chips, time is frozen. When Clara is with the Doctor she doesn't need a time machine.

And she keeps saying in her mind that she doesn't love him, but now she knows it clearly isn't true. She can lie to herself, but she can't deny it. Her trick doesn't work anymore.

She says she's not in love with him, and she knows that it's most certainly false no matter how hard she tries to convince herself.

* * *

6:00 – the alarm clock beside Clara's bed goes off. She smacks it with her hand to make it stop.

She doesn't want to wake up. She's just had a dream about the Doctor. They were having an adventure in space and were in the middle of some very dangerous situation, as always. The details of the dream eludes her, but she remembers the Doctor taking her hand and whispering to her ear, "I need you". And the best, and worst, part is that she knows he really does.

Clara gets up and sits on the bed. She breathes in deeply and exhales slowly. Her routine is about to start again.

She doesn't love the Doctor. That is the truth. That has to be true. She just has to focus harder on her trick.

Don't fall in love, she thinks, don't fall in love. She fears it might be too late.

 

* * *

 

 **A/N** : Thank you for reading. Reviews, opinions, and constructive criticism appreciated.


	2. Not Your Boyfriend

**Prompt: The postcard's from a distant country. The postmark on the stamp is local.**

**A/N:** Story set towards the end of series 8, before Dark Water.

 

* * *

 

_**Not Your Boyfriend** _

 

The TARDIS lands in Clara's small living room, filling the whole space between the television and the sofa. The Doctor jumps outside the doors, wearing a wide-brimmed hat on his grey hair and his sonic sunglasses on his pale nose.

"Fancy a safari trip to Egypt?" he says in an eager and cheerful voice, "I know you've been asking for a long time to go on some wild life adventure and I think the moment has finally come! What do you think of my hat?"

The room looks unnaturally dark. He thinks it might be his sunglasses' fault, so he takes them off, and discovers that the lights are all off in the apartment and all shutters are closed.

"Clara? Are you already sleeping?" he calls for her, and gets no answer. The Doctor walks quickly outside the room to look for her.

"You'll have to wear something light but warm," he continues, "and you'll also need this vaccination for the safari." He takes a syringe out of his trousers' pocket and hold it up menacingly. "Don't be scared, it's just routine, it won't hurt a bit. You don't need to hide."

He enters the kitchen, but Clara isn't there either. He reaches the fridge and opens it, as if he was expecting to find her inside it. The light from the fridge illuminates the calendar hanging on the opposite wall. The Doctor approaches it and checks it out. There's a note in bright read written on the calendar. The calendar box of the current date reads, "Date with Danny." Circled, underlined three times, like an important event that can't be missed.

"Oh."

The Doctor's good mood vanishes. He puts the syringe back and returns to the TARDIS. He doesn't want to bother Clara if she's busy, and there's no point in waiting for her. He'll just have to go on this adventure by himself.

That's not a problem, he loves travelling on his own. He can do what he wants, go anywhere, and nobody tells him off.

But it would have been even a greater adventure if he had Clara to share it with him.

* * *

A few days later, the TARDIS lands again in Clara's flat, inside her bedroom this time.

The Doctor pops out of the box, big grin on his face, sunburnt nose from his trip to Egypt. He holds a postcard proudly in his hands, but his grin turns into a frown when he hears loud voices coming from the living room.

He walks slowly through the corridor, not making any sound that could give away his presence. He reaches the living room and pauses on the entry, peering through the slightly open door.

Clara and Danny are sitting on the sofa, embracing each other tenderly. They're watching something on TV, and the volume is loud enough to cover the sound of the TARDIS so they probably didn't hear its landing.

The Doctor looks down, his eyes unveil a bit of disappointment, and a tiny bit of sadness. He'd like to spend some time with Clara but he doesn't want to interrupt anything. She has her own life and the Doctor must not interfere with it.

He shoves the postcard inside his pocket and walks back to his spaceship before they can see him. He closes the door behind him and the TARDIS takes off with its usual groaning sound.

Clara rushes out of the living room, big grin on her face, expecting to see someone in the corridor. But there's no one.

"What is it, Clara?" Danny asks, adjusting himself on the sofa.

"Nothing," she replies, pouting and looking a bit disappointed, "I just thought I'd heard a noise."

* * *

The Doctor lands on an empty London road. He needs a bit of fresh air. He walks in the night, without a destination, listening to the sound of silence.

Lots of thoughts are storming in his mind, but there's a recurring one. Clara and Danny are together now, and that's how it should be. Clara should live her normal, human life day after day, and that's the one adventure that the Doctor could never offer her. He and his silly blue box can't fit in her life anymore.

As he's walking around lost in his thoughts, the Doctor almost stumbles upon a red postbox. He remembers about the postcard in his pocket that he wrote for Clara. He feels a bit stupid now for having done so. He takes out the postcard and looks at the picture of the palms and pyramids on it, then turns it over and rereads its back.

> _Dear Clara,_
> 
> _Hello from Egypt! In the last 24 hours I've been chased by a living mummy and almost got trapped inside an alien sarcophagus. Average. The pyramids are totally overrated. I tried to explain to the locals the real reason why the Giza Pyramids are aligned with the stars of Orion but they wouldn't listen. Also, I've found a hieroglyph that looks like the TARDIS! You should have seen it!_
> 
> _See you soon,  
>  _ _The Doctor._

He stares at the postbox. Since it's unlikely that he'll be able to give Clara the postcard in person any time soon, he might as well send it. He wonders for a second whether it's the right choice, then drops the postcard into the postbox, and walks away.

He has to let Clara settle down, get on with her life. She can't keep on travelling forever, and the longer they keep doing it the harder it will be to stop. She is already looking too much like him, thinking like him, acting like him. He doesn't want Clara to change, to turn into him. To stop being human. And that's what humans do, they have a job, they have hobbies, they get into relationships. They don't fly around.

The Doctor is not Clara's boyfriend, and he must remember it. He can't start thinking like that again, he mustn't make that mistake again. He's a 2000-year-old Time Lord. He knows he can't be anybody's boyfriend.

But that doesn't hurt any less.

* * *

The following week, the TARDIS lands again in Clara's flat, at the far end of the corridor. The Doctor checks the local time on the console monitor, and reaches the door of his phone box. He doesn't expect to find Clara in her flat, but he's decided to check anyway. He opens the door and a familiar wide face with big brown eyes and funny nose stares back at him.

"Why have you gone on a safari without me?" Clara asks in an offended tone, with a look of resentment on her face, holding up the postcard from Egypt the Doctor has sent her.

"Hello, Clara," the Doctor says, trying not to look too pleased to see her.

"Besides," Clara continues, "if this postcard is really from Egypt, why is it stamped with a London postmark?"

"I wanted to give it to you in person so I dropped by your house, but you were... busy," he shrugs, as if it didn't bother him.

"Busy?"

"You weren't home," the Doctor corrects himself, "so I put it in a nearby postbox."

"You could have called ahead," Clara replies, crossing her arms.

"You know I don't do that."

"Maybe you should."

"Listen, Clara," the Doctor collects his thoughts, "I know that you have a life here. I understand if you don't want to do this anymore." He does the sad smile he has learnt from Clara.

"What?" Clara can't believe her ears. "Where is this coming from?"

"You've got Danny now. I understand if you want to stop travelling," he repeats, looking down, "don't mind this old man."

"I thought we went over this," Clara reaches for his arm. "Look, Danny is fine with the idea of me and you knocking about. I don't want to stop. I don't want to give you up, Doctor. I never could, and believe me, I tried."

"Maybe you should."

Clara squeezes his arm reassuringly with her hand and moves past him, stepping inside the TARDIS. "Are you going to be this grumpy and insecure all day?" she winks, "come on, give me some planets!"

The Doctor half-smiles at her, this time meaning it, and follows her inside the TARDIS.

He's not Clara's boyfriend. She's a young woman with her beautiful, messy, human life, and he's impossible. It could never work out. But every once in a while, they are together. And that's more than enough.

 

* * *

 

 **A/N** : Hope you enjoyed this story, thank you for reading it. If you want to leave me your opinions and comments in the reviews I'll really appreciated it.


	3. I'm Always Okay

**Prompt: A place from the past.**

 

* * *

 

_**I'm Always Okay** _

 

"I need a proper holiday!" Clara snorted, "after a whole year in rainy London, I deserve to just lie down on a sunny beach and dive in a crystal blue sea!"

"What's so good about sweating, having sand in your mouth and salt in your hair?" the Doctor exhaled.

As usual, they were fighting over the next destination of their endless journey in time and space, moving around the TARDIS console as if they were engaged in a dance of some sort.

"Just give me some beach!" Clara complained, exasperated.

"If you insist," the Doctor sighed, resigning. In the end, he didn't mind to let his control freak friend win.

He pressed a few buttons on the control console, checked the monitor, and let the TARDIS decide. He pulled a lever, and in a moment the spaceship landed making its familiar wheezing noise.

"There you go," the Doctor said, swinging his arm towards the door to encourage Clara to have a look outside.

She rushed to the door, smiling like a child at Christmas, and opened it. She stepped outside, putting her feet in the sand. A blast of cold wind hit her, ruffling her brown hair.

"Is this a joke?!" she cried out, disappointed. "Where are the beach chairs and umbrellas? Where are the people? Where's the sun?!"

Clara was indeed standing on a beach, but it was not exactly how she imagined it. The beach was completely deserted. It was dark, probably late at night, and it was terribly cold. A freezing wind was blowing from the sea. It smelt like roses.

"You've done this on purpose," she grumbled, shivering. "Admit it, you're just too shy to wear your swimming costume."

The Doctor reached her and stepped in the sand. He looked thoughtfully at the sea, frowning.

"I let the TARDIS pick the destination, choose a random beach," he replied, dryly, "I should have know it would have brought us here."

"And where is 'here' exactly?" Clara asked, pushing her hair away from her face.

"Norway," the Doctor explained, "about fifty miles out of Burgen."

"Norway. Right. The perfect holiday destination to get a tan," Clara said, sarcastically. "Are you deducing the location from the wind or have you been here before?"

"I've been here before," the Doctor nodded, "I've got a link with this place. It's a place from my distant past, actually. It's called Dårlig Ulv Stranden."

"Dalek?"

"Dårlig," the Doctor repeated, "it means Bad Wolf Bay. Last time I was here, I said goodbye to an old friend."

He moved towards the sea, and Clara followed him. They started walking together by the water's edge, listening to the calming sound of the waves crashing against the shore. But the Doctor still looked very tense.

"Was she nice, your friend?" Clara finally asked with a knowing smile, staring at the footprints they were leaving in the sand.

The Doctor didn't reply. She raised her gaze to him. He was looking afar at the vast sea, the waves reflecting in his blue eyes lost in thoughts.

"What happened to her? Did she..." Clara was trying to be delicate, but she needed to know.

"No, she's alive," he quickly clarified, shaking his head and coming back to reality, "she just went to a different universe."

"Oh," Clara gasped, "that was awful of her."

"I suppose so," he shrugged, "I've never really thought about it that way."

"Not somebody special, then."

"No," the Doctor lied, looking down.

But Clara was used to read through his lies. They kept walking on the seashore in silence for a few minutes, the Doctor's jacked blowing in the wind.

"Hold my hand," Clara then suddenly said, lending him a hand.

"Why?" he was confused.

"Because you're not okay," she replied, "I can feel it from here."

"Oh, Clara," he smiled softly, grasping her hand tenderly and holding it tight, "I'm always okay, when I'm with you."

Their fingers interlaced as they were strolling along the shore, and the Doctor felt how cold Clara's fingertips were. "Are you cold?" he asked her, "do you want to go back to the TARDIS?"

"No," she answered. Despite her initial disappointment, she had to admit that this beach had a special atmosphere to it. It was awaking something deep in her guts. It made her feel happy and sad at the same time. "This place his magical," she said in a dreamy tone, "I've never seen the sea like this."

"Yeah, I know," he agreed, "it makes you feel as if you're drowning even when you're out of the water."

The Doctor stopped walking and let go of Clara's hand. He then took off his jacket and laid it on the sand.

"Take a seat," he told Clara, while he bent down and sat on his coat.

Clara hesitated for a moment, then sat down on the coat too, just a few inches from the Doctor. He stretched his legs towards the sea, the waves lightly brushing against his boots half-dug in the sand. They stared at the ocean, trapped in an endless loop of waves constantly hitting the shore, lapping on the beach, and repeating the same movements. In the night darkness, the water was reflecting distorted copies of the stars, doubling their number. The sky and the sea were indistinguishable, and melted in a new, indefinite entity that extended to the borders of the universe. Clara didn't know what the Time Vortex looked like, but she thought it must have looked like that. It was a hypnotic vision that made her fell equally reassured and sick. The Doctor and Clara's breaths synchronized with the music of the waves.

"What are you thinking about, Doctor?" Clara finally broke the silence. "Tell me."

He breathed in deeply, as if resurfacing from thoughts too deep to dive in. "This place means ending and closure to me, and I can't help thinking... Where will I see you for the last time, Clara?" he whimpered, "where will our final goodbye take place? What place will I remember forever as the one that brought you away from me?"

Clara's breath died in her throat. She swallowed deeply, her gaze frozen on the Doctor's profile. Was he crying?

She slid her arm behind his back, touching his cold, creased shirt with her fingers, and rested her head against his shoulder. "Don't worry," she whispered, "I'm not going anywhere."

They both knew it was quite not true, but it was nice to pretend. They kept looking at the stars reflecting on the ocean, while two other stars made of water fell from their eyes.

 

* * *

 

 **A/N** : Hope you liked the story, thank you for reading. Reviews, opinions, and constructive criticism appreciated.


	4. Just a Magic Trick

**Prompt: You give a homeless person some change and he/she knows your name.**

**A/N:** Post Hell Bent

 

* * *

 

_**Just a Magic Trick** _

 

 **Monday** – Even the Doctor sometimes had cravings. He would travel to the end of the universe just to have another taste of some alien meals he enjoyed, but he had a soft spot for Earth's cuisine. He tried all possible variations of lasagnas and chips, he invented countless silly combinations far more outrageous than fish fingers and custard, and only ate ice cream for a week once. Today, his cravings brought him back to London again, to have a proper breakfast.

He remembered a lovely coffee shop in the South Bank that had a rooftop terrace with a beautiful view of St Paul's Cathedral, the Shard, and Tower 42. A long time before he had been there with one of his friends, but he couldn't recall exactly which one. He's going to have cappuccino and scones, he decided. The only problem was his lack of money, but he had an idea to gather some change. It was a trick he already used once, maybe, his memories of that period of his endless life were a bit confused at times. He just needed to prepare for the part, so he dug in his wardrobe looking for his old jacket, the one that made him look like a magician. He took off his velvet jacket and put on the red lined one that still fit perfectly.

A few moments later, the TARDIS materialized between a surprised living statue and a violinist busking in the South Bank at the feet of the London Eye. The Doctor stepped outside to a large crowd of people clapping and cheering at his amazing magic performance. He bowed flamboyantly and collected tips from his audience, then closed the TARDIS door with a snap of his fingers to more cheers.

He walked away from the TARDIS while people were taking pictures with the magic blue box, leaving it to its fifteen minutes of glory. He strolled along the South Bank, headed towards the coffee shop, counting the money he had collected in his hands. There was more than enough for a coffee and some cake. A voice interrupted him before he could put the money inside his trousers' pocket.

"Got any spare change, mate?"

A young woman sitting on a bench in front of River Thames called for his attention. She had familiar brown hair and big eyes that the Doctor didn't recognize. If he had already seen that funny nose he would absolutely know, he thought.

"Just a couple of quids, mate," the woman asked again, outstretching her hand.

She didn't look like a homeless person asking for money, more like someone trying to act the part. But there was something in her face that attracted the Doctor towards her and made him feel an immediate affection for her. He didn't like to have too much money on himself anyway, so he picked a couple of coins he wouldn't need for his breakfast and decided to give them to the mysterious woman. He approached her and dropped the change in her hand.

"There you go," he said turning his back, about to keep walking.

"Thank you, Doctor," she replied, making him freeze.

He turned back to face her. She was staring straight into his eyes, as if she could read them like a book.

"What did you say?" the Doctor asked her, with his eyebrows casting an intimidating shadow over his gaze.

"I said, _Thank you, Doctor_ ," the woman repeated, "it'd be rude not to thank you after you've done something nice for me, wouldn't it?"

"How do you know my name?" his eyebrows tightened.

"I don't," the girl laughed, showing her dimples, "nobody knows it."

The Doctor kept looking back at her, trying to catch some detail that could make him understand who this woman was or how she knew him. But he wasn't able to deduce anything about her identity, not figure out if he'd met her before. She was probably just a silly woman on a bench. She was nobody important.

He shrugged and stepped away from her, going back to his business. He looked over his shoulder as he walked away, and saw she was still staring right into his eyes.

* * *

**Tuesday** – The woman he had met the day before on a bench in the South Bank wouldn't get out of his mind. She made him feel weird, and he had to know why. So he decided to go back to that same spot to check whether she was just an ordinary homeless person who usually begged there or not.

He materialized in the South Bank and repeated the magic trick with the TARDIS as he had done the previous day, gathering some change. Then he walked for a few minutes along the Thames, until he saw her. There she was, sitting on the same bench, with the same clothes on. She was probably just a normal homeless woman after all.

He directly approached her this time, walking up to face her and handing her the money he had collected.

"Why, you're very kind, Doctor," the woman said, smiling, "thank you."

The fact that she knew the name he went by was unsettling, and the way her wide face was making his two hearts race was even more unnerving. That woman was impossible.

"You remind me of someone," he said, studying her reaction closely.

"Who?" she asked in a hopeful tone that lighted a sparkle in her gaze.

"I don't know," he exhaled, averting his eyes.

"And you hate not knowing," the woman completed.

The Doctor was puzzled. Everything about this woman confused him. "You look familiar," he said, rubbing his gray hair, "but you probably just have one of those common faces."

"There's no such thing," she replied, becoming serious. "Everybody that you think you've met before, you've actually met before. When you meet someone for the first time and feel like you've known them all your life, it's because you've actually known them all your life. Memory is a mess, it gets rewritten all the time. Time itself is being rewritten every day, all around us, even now."

The Doctor half smiled, half frowned at her. That was the most ridiculous thing he'd ever heard. And the most worrying part was that it made perfect sense to him.

The woman was now looking away at something distant only she could see, deeply saddened. He left her to her thoughts and got back to his spaceship.

Now the Doctor was sure. She was just a mad woman on a bench. And since there was nothing madder than his life, their meeting couldn't have been a coincidence.

* * *

**Wednesday** – The Doctor decided to go visit the mysterious homeless woman on the bench again. He got the impression that she was feeling lonely and sad the last time he saw her, and there was something about her that made him feel just the same way.

The TARDIS materialized again in the South Bank, and the Doctor reached the usual bench where he had met the woman of mystery the day before to give her some change. But this time he sat next to her.

"Hi, Doctor," she greeted him with a gentle yet sad smile, as if they were long-time friends, "I was waiting for you."

"Do you come here everyday?" he asked.

"It's a nice place, isn't it?"

"Where do you live?" he couldn't help the sound of concern in his voice, even though he didn't understand why he'd be worried about a complete stranger.

"A bit here, a bit there..." she replied, evasively, "I travel a lot, never stop for long."

"Don't you have a house to come back to?"

"No, not really," she swallowed. "I used to have a home, but not anymore."

"What was it like, your home?" the Doctor inquired, wondering why he was so instinctively interested in this person's life.

"Oh, it was beautiful," the woman said, wearing her sad smile again, "it was brand new and ancient at the same time, and so much bigger on the inside. But the company was the best part."

Something in those words made the Doctor stand up abruptly, unable to bare staying any longer. He moved a step away from the bench, looking at the woman uncertainly, not really willing to stay, but neither to go.

"Will you come back tomorrow?" she asked him, wishfully.

He hesitated for a second, then replied, "I will," and left.

* * *

**Thursday** – As he had promised the homeless woman the previous day, the Doctor returned to the South Bank.

He gave her his change, as if it was a ritual necessary to talk to her, and sat down on the bench next to her.

"How was your day?" he asked her, tentatively.

"Are you making conversation?" she smiled at him, raising her eyebrows.

"I thought that I would give it a try," he replied, making her grin widen, "won't be trying that again."

"Didn't your mum teach you not to talk to strange women?" she laughed lightly.

"But you're not a stranger to me, aren't you?" he said back, looking at her eyes intently, trying to grasp some answers. "Do I know you?"

"No, you most definitely don't," she sighed, "but I do know you."

"How, how is that possible?" he stuttered, puzzled, "has somebody told you about me? Have you been spying on me?"

"I just know you," she said again.

They sat next to each other in silence for a few minutes, looking at the river flowing in front of them. Then the Doctor suddenly shot up and got ready to leave. He had too many questions and needed to look for the answers on his own.

"See you tomorrow!" she shout out to him as he was leaving.

* * *

**Friday** – The Doctor thought to have understood what the woman had meant when she said that she knew him but he didn't know her. Meeting people in the wrong direction had happened to him before. Sometimes things would get all back to front and you'd meet with people who travelled in the opposite direction. Maybe that woman's past was his future. He needed to know and had to get some confirmation.

He rushed to the usual bench, sat cautiously beside the woman and gave her some coins, but didn't attempt to small talk this time.

"Are you from my future?" he asked her straight away.

That was the sort of query that would have made all normal people question the sanity of their speaker, yet the woman's wide eyes didn't show any sign of surprise, as if she found such a topic completely plausible.

"No," she simply replied.

"Then you lied, about knowing me," the Doctor accused her.

"I'm a brilliant liar," she grinned, "but I didn't lie this time. It's true, I know you very well, even though you haven't the faintest idea of who I am."

"You can't possibly be from my past, or I would remember you, if we were as close as you say."

"I told you the other day," the woman said, "memory is a mess. Memories are forgotten all the time."

"You're from my past, then," he considered the possibility.

"It doesn't matter," she shrugged.

He got up, run to the TARDIS, and took off. Even if the impossible woman wasn't willing to help him, he was decided to check every possible source and use any means to discover her identity.

* * *

**Saturday** – Every time he thought he was getting nearer to discovering who that woman was, all of the information he had gathered would just turn out to be completely useless. It felt like something was actively blocking him out. He didn't find any hint in the TARDIS that could help him, as if the machine itself was hiding possible clues. No matter how much he tried to meditate and collect his memories, he wasn't able to link her face to anybody significant in his life. The lack of information was what made him understand. Only one person could have left such a big hole.

He remember weird movable diners, a pretty employee in a blue mini-dress uniform that closely resembled the painting on the door of the TARDIS and talked exactly like the woman on the bench, a cryptic message on his blackboard inside the console room. He knew who the mysterious woman was.

The Doctor materialized yet again in the South Bank and rushed to the strange woman's bench. This time he didn't sit, nor did he give her any money. She saw the change in his behavior, and stood up to face him, leaving the bench for the first time since he'd met her days before.

"What's your name?" he asked her, panting.

"Finally he asks," she laughed, but her eyes weren't smiling. She already knew where this was going.

"Answer the question," he scolded her, drawing his eyebrows near and giving her a harsh look.

"Can't tell you. Too much time travel, the wrong word in the wrong place can change an entire causal nexus," she uttered, looking at her feet, "I shouldn't even be here. This is wrong."

"Doesn't matter, because I think I already know your name," he stared at her with a knowing gaze. "You're Clara."

"Clara who?"

"I'm terrible at recognizing faces and notice physical features, but you look exactly like the girl in that American diner, and the portrait on the TARDIS door," he continued, "and you say a lot of science nonsense which is probably something that rubbed off on you from me. You're Clara."

"I don't know what you're talking about," she shook her head, while her eyes got sad and faraway. "I'm nobody important."

"Don't give me that!" he furrowed his brow intensely, "I know you're Clara, don't deny it."

She took his hand and hold it midair, giving it a gentle stroke. "I'm sorry. I was selfish, but it was really nice seeing you again," she sighed, as tears began to well in her eyes. "Now forget me, Doctor. Get back in your TARDIS and go a long way away."

She slowly let go of his hand. His gaze softened, and he opened his mouth to reply, but before he could say anything Clara raised an admonishing finger and added in a teacher tone, "Do as you're told."

Then she turned her back and walked away, bringing her hand to her face, and leaving the Doctor alone by the bench this time. He looked at her until she disappeared in the crowd of people that filled up the street.

* * *

**Sunday** – Clara had said that he should go away and not look for her, but the Doctor didn't always listen. He had a feeble hope that he would find her sitting in her usual bench by the Thames again, so he had to take a look.

He materialized in the South Bank for the seventh time that week, and clung to that hope while he was walking to the mysterious woman's bench, but had to let go of it when he found it empty. The impossible woman wasn't sit there as all the days before.

He breathed in the breeze coming from the river. The sky was cloudy and gray and reflected pretty accurately his mood. He didn't really expect to see her again, but how could he go back to his life knowing that there was this woman out there who knew everything about him and had been on countless adventures with him that he knew nothing about?

He sat on the bench, pretending Clara was sitting next to him. He turned his face and noticed a little pile of change on the other corner of the bench, where Clara would usually sit. He slid on the bench and grasped the coins, quickly counting them. It was all the change he had given the mysterious girl in the previous days.

Under the money that prevented it from flying away in the London windy weather, there was a little folded bit of paper. He took the note and read it.

> _I'm sorry I can't stay, but if I did time would probably fracture and history would most definitely collapse, and a couple of people might get angry. I'll keep an eye on you, though. You just keep running and being a Doctor. My Doctor._
> 
> _\- Clara._

A soft grin appeared on the Doctor's face. He bet he must have really liked that Clara person. He folded the note back up and put it into his jacket's pocket as he stood up. He felt a sudden craving for souffles. He counted out the change in his palm again, concluding it was enough for at least a couple of souffles. He waved at the bench as if Clara was still sitting there, and started walking away.

"Till the next time, impossible girl," he whispered, plunging into the crowd of people shopping, headed towards the first restaurant he could find.

 

* * *

 

 **A/N** : Thank you for reading, I hope you liked the story. It's a bit different from the previous ones, and quite bittersweet too, but I hope you enjoyed it. Please consider leaving a comment, I appreciate all sort of opinions and constructive criticism.


	5. Under My Protection

**Prompt: I met him on the stairs.**

 

* * *

 

_**Under My Protection** _

 

"Clara!" the Doctor shouted after her as she was walking quickly along the path towards her house, swinging her arms by her sides like weapons. "Clara, wait!"

"Go away!" she yelled, not even turning to look at him.

"Clara, listen to me, please!" he slammed the TARDIS door shut and rushed after her, grabbing her shoulder to stop her and try calming her down.

"Leave me alone," Clara yanked his hand away from her, "I don't want to talk with you now!"

The Doctor froze and looked at his companion reach the block of flats where she lived, then disappear inside the building. But he wasn't going to give up so easily.

Clara climbed the stairs furiously. This time the Doctor had really went too far. How could he dare mistrust her and treat her like a child. If there was someone acting like a child here, it was him. By the time she reached her floor, she was painting, not in fatigue, but in rage. And here he was, the Doctor, looking down at her from the top of the stairs, his TARDIS parked exactly in front of the door of her home.

He was standing still on the staircase a few steps above Clara, and his arms were crossed, just as the look on his face below his frowning eyebrows. He had clearly taken a shortcut, materializing ahead of Clara with his blue box.

"We need to talk, now!" he admonished her, blocking her way.

"Talk all you want, but I'm not going to listen," she cut short the conversation, avoiding his eyes. "That's not going to be a problem, you're great at talking to yourself. You don't care what anybody has to say anyway."

Clara dodged his attempt to move closer to her and walked up to the landing, squeezing through the space between the wall and the TARDIS.

"You'll never fit through there," the Doctor commented spitefully.

"Didn't you say I have the hips of a man?!" Clara shouted back, exasperated and resentful, slipping through the narrow space.

She struggled to get her key into the door, but she eventually managed to open it and enter her house, then banged the door shout behind her.

She took off her leather jacket and threw it on the sofa, then went to the kitchen and poured a glass of wine. She grasped the glass and gulped it down, trying to blow off the steam. The only think she wanted to do now was not thinking about the Doctor, but it was hard to stop arguing with him in her mind.

She put the glass in the sink and returned to the living room, collapsing into the armchair and breathing deeply to help herself relax. With her eyes half closed, she reached for the remote and turned on the TV, letting the blabbing and the noises coming from the screen filling the emptiness of her flat. When her heart rate slowed down and she was able to breathe regularly, she grabbed the homework books lying on the floor by the armchair and began marking them in the dim light of the TV.

A few hours and naps later, she decided to call it a day and go to bed. The last things she did before going to her bedroom were locking her front door and look through the peephole, as she did every night. Unexpectedly, she saw that the Doctor was still on the other side of the closed door, leaning on the banister near the TARDIS. Catching the glimpse of him made her angry again. Whether he was trying to make a point or expected her to surrender so easily and come out of her flat, he was just deluded. She was going to bed.

She had troubles sleeping that night. A mild sense of guilt for having shut her door in the Doctor's face tried to keep her awake, but in the end she knew he had asked for it.

* * *

The few moments before she could pull out from the daze of sleep the memories of what the Doctor had done to make her so mad, when she woke up in the morning, were a little snippet of bliss in the midst of the busy day that lied ahead of her. She got out of bed and tried not to let her anger influence everything she did, from the breakfast she consumed quickly to the makeup she applied absentmindedly. She then picked up her leather jacket from the sofa, grabbed her bag, and got ready to leave for work, mentally evaluating how long should pass before she could be able to talk with the Doctor calmly.

She opened the door lost in her thoughts and banged her nose against the TARDIS. The blue telephone box was still were she had left it the day before, and its owner was staring at her from the staircase on her left with a smug look on his face.

"Good morning," the Doctor said, with a small grin that made Clara livid.

She squeezed through the TARDIS and the wall, threw a fierce look at the Doctor without replying, and went down the stairs. If he thought he was being funny, he was just worsening his situation.

* * *

When Clara got back home that evening, she was so tired she didn't even remember about the Doctor. When she met him again on the stairs to her flat, she was too exhausted to keep up her air of superiority.

The Doctor was sitting on the topmost step of the staircase leading to Clara's house. "How was work?" he ask in a plain tone.

"What do you hope to achieve waiting here?" she asked back, bitter.

"I'll just wait until you want to talk to me," he replied, looking at her eyes intensely.

Clara dug through her bag to find her keys and slipped inside her flat. She rested her shoulders against the door as soon as it was closed behind her. After a hard day at work she just wanted to talk to her friend and set out for a journey in time and space with him, but she forced herself not to forgive him so easily.

She threw her bag on the armchair and went to the kitchen to start making soup for dinner. Waiting a little bit longer wouldn't harm the Doctor.

* * *

The following morning, the Doctor noticed a change in Clara's attitude. When she opened her door and squeezed past the TARDIS, she still didn't stop to talk with him, but she mumbled a "hello" in response to his greeting.

The Doctor knew he just needed to be patient for a few more hours. Clara had all the right to be mad at him, but he wasn't going to mess it up this time, and they were going to sort out their problems.

* * *

When Clara came back from work, the Doctor could read in her face that she had decided to give him another chance.

"Stop stalking me," she said, being the one to initiate the conversation for the first time since their fight.

"I'm not stalking you, I'm just waiting," he shrugged, standing up from the step he was sitting on.

"What do you even care?" she sighed, walking past him. "You don't care about anyone, you're just doing this for your guilt complex or your hero complex."

"Is this what you like to think about me?" he asked in a hollow tone. "Does it make it easier?"

"No," she groaned, as she put her key inside the keyhole, "because I know you always care underneath it all. Always have."

Clara stepped inside her flat and was about to close the door behind her, but left it open. The Doctor approached it, peering from behind the TARDIS, and Clara popped her head out of the door again.

"Why did you lie to me?" she enquired, waiting for an honest reason why he still didn't trust her after all the time they had spent together. "Why you decided to lie to me and make me so angry?"

"Why would it make you angry, you lie all the time!" the Doctor raised one eyebrow.

"Not to you!" she snapped, "you're the one man I would never, ever lie to!"

The Doctor arched his eyebrows, giving Clara a tender look. "There are lies I have to tell," he explained, "there are things that I can never say, not even to you."

"Why?" she repeated, confused. "You're my best friend."

"And you're mine, that's exactly why," the Doctor exhaled. "I have to lie when it's necessary to keep you safe. You're under my protection."

The Doctor's response overwhelmed Clara, who blinked repeatedly to fight back the tears where all her anger was starting to melt. "Why?" she said again, unable to grasp the scope of the Doctor's revelation.

"I have a duty of care," he whispered, lifting a corner of his mouth into a smile.

Clara's eyes could no longer hold the tears that released all the frustration she had carried for the past few days, so she stepped inside her house again and hid behind the door. Once she had regained control of her eyes and wiped the tears from her cheeks, she popped out of the door again, with a bigger smile on her face.

"Do you remember the day we met," she told the Doctor, "when you sat all night outside my house, guarding me?"

"As if it were yesterday," he replied, with soft smirk. "I'm still guarding you."

Clara lowered her head, disguising her smile. She was about to go back inside her flat, but now she couldn't leave the Doctor outside, not after what he'd told her.

He raised her gaze to his eyes. "Come on, get in. I'll put the kettle on," she said, leading the way.

 

* * *

 

 **A/N** : Hope you enjoyed this story, let me know your impressions in the reviews, I'd really appreciate it. Thanks for reading.


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